


A Plague on Both Our Houses!

by Ellisama



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, NaNoWriMo, Romeo & Juliet AU, Some surprise smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8442403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellisama/pseuds/Ellisama
Summary: [Romeo & Juliet AU] // Once upon a time, the Prince of Ylisse and the Princess of Plegia fell in love despite the blood feud between their families.   A secret love blossomed, one doomed from the start according to the age old tale. But that story forgot to mention a shepherd and his wife, and the life they carved out for themselves on the edge of the world. Their children were about to find out that more often than not, truth is stranger than fiction....
[Written for Nanowrimo2016]





	1. Act 1: In fair Plegia is where we lay our scene...

“War is upon our borders,” the vegetable merchant told her when she asked why his prices were so high. “Ylisse’s dogs have kept up their peaceful, holier-than-thou facade long enough, but everyone knows it won’t last much longer.”

“Is it, now?” Morgana echoed, feigning disinterest. “Haven’t they been saying that for months?”

Her tactic seemed to work, as a flicker of hesitation passed over the man’s features. “Aye… but… I’m a merchant, lady. I sell my wares to anyone, even those Ylissean border towns. They’re not bad folk, not all of them at least. But….”

“But?” She pressed him.

The merchant looked around, probably to check if a guard was listening in on their conversation. But the market square of Occasus was as busy as it always was at this hour of the day, when the desert sun had not yet reached it’s highest point and the heat was bearable, and no one seemed interested in some gossip between a middle aged woman and a merchant.  “But even the Ylissean admit that something is different this time… They almost didn’t let me in, claiming that Plegia had raided their homes and fields, raising their own dearly departed to fight them...”

Morgana covered up her shock before it could show on her face. “Folktales are hardly a reason to charge such criminal prices for some cabbage, my good man.”

“It’s true!” the man exclaimed indignantly. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes! Dead, roaming the earth, like some All Hallow’s Eve story come to life.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re telling me that our peaceful country did this? That’s borderline treason, you could get arrested for that.”

The man squirmed under her gaze, nervous sweat starting to form on his brow. “I’m not saying that  _ we  _ did it, but I’ve seen them walk… or rather, stumble, on broken, decaying legs that should not be able to carry them. And the stench! I was glad that the Ylissean cover the heads of their fallen men with sacks, or I don’t think I’d be sleeping anytime soon. And they were fast too! We were nearly a goner.”

“How did you survive then, if these creatures were so terrifying?”

The merchant looked slightly ashamed for a second, before admitting: “We were rescued by some Ylissean Shepherds, or at least that’s what they called themselves. I’ve certainly never seen Shepherds armed to the brink like that, but Ylisseans are strange.”

“Shepherds, you say?” Morgana repeated incredulously. 

The man nodded eagerly. “Yes! A ragtag bunch, if anything. I think I saw one person in a standard Ylissean army uniform, but all the others wore different mismatched pieces of armor, like some band mercenaries. If I hadn’t heard their commander speak with a posh Ylissean accent, I would have never guessed where they hailed from.”

“I’ve heard a thing or two about them, though I thought they were children’s tales. But if an honest merchant such as yourself puts stock in those stories…” Truthfully, she probably knew more about them than the merchant, but with men like these pretending to be an old, stupid woman tended to get her further than giving away all she knew.

“They’re real, though a strange bunch. The first time in fifteen years I’ve seen a Tarquel! I thought they had all long gone extinct! And certainly the first time I’ve seen a mere shepherd girl wield a sword like that! And then there was their tactician…” the man trailed off dramatically, trying to pull her in even more. The sparkle in his eyes betrayed how much he enjoyed her undivided attention, and Morgana hadn’t climbed this high by not taking advantage of people’s pride.

So, she took the bait. “Their tactician? What was strange about him?”

“He’s a bit of a mystery, and didn’t speak much, staying in the back. But…  _ don’t tell anyone this _ … I think he’s a turncoat,” the merchant added in a conspirator’s tone.

Morgana shrugged. “An Ylissean traitor? Wouldn’t be the first one to escape that wretched nation.”

“No! A  _ Grimleal _ !” The merchant hissed back. “I only caught a glimpse of him twice, his eyes were as brown as the noblest of them, and his magic just as dark. But the thing that really gave it away was the cloak, decorated with Grima’s eyes, the same gold and purple the priests wear here.”

“He probably just stole it. Everyone knows that you can’t leave the Grimleal! You either stay a member your entire life, or you forfeit your right to draw breath.” It was a well known fact that becoming part of the dark priesthood was not something you shouldn’t take lightly. For the rest of your life, you would never have to worry about any expense, but at the same time you had no control over how long said life would last. Human sacrifice was an integral part of the religion, an offering to the gods so they may spare the rest of their humble desert nation. Despite the benefits, only a few hundred young men and women a year joined the cult each year. 

Morgana eyed the merchant with some humor in her voice. “Your eyes might be getting bad with old age, sir.”

The man quickly brushed a hand through his hair, the sunlight catching in a few stray white strands. “Maybe… but I know what I saw. When she cast that spell, I saw the mark of Grima on his hand. Whoever he is, he must have been a higher up, because I’ve only seen that mark on a handful of priests and royals.”

The teasing smile fell from Morgana’s face. “Are you absolutely certain?” She demanded.

The merchant threw up his hands in defence. “Of course! My brother-in-law is a Grimleal, so I’ve seen plenty of them in my days, and wife saw it too. Honey, can you come over here?”

From the other side of the market stall, a woman with a wise look in her eyes was haggling with another customer. While she was a mere saleswoman now, from the way she carried herself Morgana could see that she hadn’t been born a merchant.

Morgana immediately readjusted her gloves, and pulled the hood of her own dark, nondescript cloak lower. “No, you don’t have to call her. I believe your word,” she quickly added, relieved when the merchant motioned his wife that it was nothing. “Where did you say you met them?”

“In one of the border towns in the east, just south of a local trade city called Lindor.”

“I didn’t think people still lived there. It’s been a battlefield on and off for decades,” Morgana muttered, as much to the merchant as to herself. Sooner or later, there would always be war with Ylisse. They traded with them all the same during peacetimes, but the deep sown hatred between their two countries was rooted within their society. It was just a matter of time.

“There are not too many of them, but a few farmers have made their home in the ruins of the abandoned cities. Lindor has a sizable water source, so a lot of merchants take shelter there during the night when travelling between nations. But other than that, you won’t find more than a few dirty farmers and shepherds in those ruins.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the ring of the large golden temple bells that signalled the turn of the hour. Morgana cursed under her breath. Was it already this late? “Thank you for the warnings, I’ll keep it in mind,” she thanked the merchant quickly. “I’ll take two of your cabbages, then.”

The merchant nodded, happy to sell his wares for the price. Morgana handed him eight golden pieces, three times as much as she should have paid for some vegetables, but far less than she would pay a spy for the same intel. “Shall I wrap them in a bag for you?”

“Please do,” she said, eyeing the large castle that loomed over the rest of the city. “It’s a long walk home.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Once upon a time, a girl met a boy under the dim light of a chandelier, dancing pairs surrounding them on all sides, protecting them from the eyes of the world. She wore a mask of gold and black, he one made of blue and white, and like their attire they were as different as night and day. But when their eyes met none of that mattered, courting fate with every stolen glance. They were barely fourteen, too young to know that they were playing with fire by dancing in each other's arms.”

“Had their world been a less cruel place, they would have been wedded on the eve of their sixteenth birthday, and lived a happy life together for the rest of their days. But fate is hardly ever that kind twice in one night. She was the heir to a desolate desert nation, he the second child of their sworn enemy. Two kingdoms, forever at odds with each other, and yet generations of strive meant nothing the second they laid eyes upon each other, touched by nothing short of that elusive love at first sight.”

“And then they kissed!”

Lucina scowled far too deep for a fifteen-year-old girl. “Shush Morgan, I’m trying to listen. Try to act your age for  _ once _ .”

“Now now Lucina, you were the one that asked for a bedtime story, that’s not very mature either,” Robin chuckled warmly, giving her pouting son a kiss on the brow, turning it into a sleepy smile. The sun had long set underneath the horizon, and an autumn wind ghosted through their little wooden house. 

Lucina seemed unphased by the cold, while her brother took after her and required many blankets to survive the drop in temperature at night. “I just like hearing the sound of your voice, mom. You always tell the best stories. Like that one about the hero king!”

“I believe your father tells that one best, my dear,” Robin conceded, peeking through the slight gap between the curtains. Her husband would be home anytime now, after checking up on the sheep one last time before going to sleep. He was a remarkably good shepherd, to her great amusement. “Now, where was I?”

“At the part the war starts,” Lucina filled her in seamlessly, fiddling impatiently with her blanket. 

“You know this story so well, why don’t you tell it?” Robin teased her back, but before Lucina could protest, her brother did. 

“She doesn’t do the voices!” He chimed in.

“I could totally do the voices if I wanted to!” Lucina protested loudly.

Robin sighed. Perhaps it was time to add another room to their little cottage. Their kids were growing up, and the tension of sharing a room during their rebellious teenage years was starting to show. “Alright, alright you two. Be quiet or I won’t continue at all.”

That shut them both up quickly enough, and true to her word, Robin continued her tale. 

“But the night did not last forever, and neither did the peace. Before too long, the two kingdoms were at war again, and it wasn’t until their sixteenth birthday that the boy and the girl saw each other again. This time, she did not wear flowers in her hair but a steel breastplate, holding a tome in her hand. He wielded the sword his ancestor had used to cut hers down. They stood on opposite sides of the battlefield, seeing each other for the first time in seven hundred days. But in all of that time, their fondness for each other had not changed.”

“But duty dictated that they crossed blades, and so they did. She fought him with all of her might, her eyes never leaving his, but never could she beat him. Her mother the Queen scolded her for not being able to best him, but she confessed to her the truth: the young prince could read her every move before she even knew of it herself.”

“Luckily for her, the prince faced the same problems. After many months of fighting, the two starcrossed lovers decided to seek the other out for answers. With only the starry sky and the red, harvest moon to witness their exchange, they met in secret on the border. There they spoke, not as their parent’s children or as royalty, but as two young adults, forced to grow up too soon. Every word he spoke might as well have come from her own lips. At the end of the night, the two lovers returned to their respective camps, their secret sealed with a single kiss.”

Robin kissed her daughter’s brow to allow herself a moment of silence. Morgan sighed happily. He was an incurable romantic, like his father.

“For months they continued their dance. During the day, they crossed blades and magic, exchanging secret smiles while they kept each other on their toes, always evenly matched. But each night when the moon was dark and the camp asleep, they sneaked out past the borderlines to find each other. It was a dangerous game, a dream that had to end eventually, or turn into a living nightmare.”

“That day came when they were both nineteen, a little less foolish, a little more scarred, but as in love as ever. The young woman looked radiant that day, for she hadn’t seen her lover in weeks. She had news for him, and could barely feign emnosity in front of her troops. When he saw her beautiful smile, he was caught off guard for a split second, his heart beating too loud for him to hear the thunder spell charging. All it took was the tiniest of mistakes, but when you play with fire every wrong move has disastrous effects. She was a sorceress without peer, and when he didn’t dodge as he normally would have, her spell struck true.”

Robin paused for dramatic effect, hearing the door close softly behind her and feeling rather than seeing her husband smiling. “The prince fell to the ground, clutching his chest, the name of his love on his lips while she ran to him. But it was too late. He died there, smiling into her chest, promising to meet her in a better life while she prayed to his gods and her own for a miracle. But it never came.”

“Technically, it was the sword that pierced her chest that ended her life, but as time passed, scholars agreed that she died of a broken heart, riddled with guilt and unable to live a life in which her true love was not at her side..,” Robin trailed off, weaving an end to the tale.

Lucina yawned, and just like that, the quiet magic was broken.

“I like dad’s ending better,” Morgan said with all the wisdom a thirteen-year-old could muster.

“Oh?” Robin remarked while she tugged the sheets around her perpetually cold little boy, sending a look to her husband, who merely shrugged innocently. “And how does his ending go?”

Her son nodded happily, stifling a yawn behind his hand. “They only pretended to be dead, and ran off into the night, never to be seen again but living together happily ever after.”

Robin’s eyebrows nearly met her hairline, her voice clipped. “Did they now…” Chrom smiled innocently, pretending not to notice her displeasure. “I suppose that is a nice ending,” she added after a tense second.

Chrom pressed a closed-mouthed kiss against her temple, his hand wrapping around her waist as if it belonged there, and without realizing it Robin exhaled deeply and felt all the tension of long and tiring day roll of her shoulder. “Some creative license is allowed. I’m sure the original prince and princess wouldn’t have minded,” he added with a small wink.

Robin rolled her eyes, but her voice was as teasing as his own. “Are you sure? I heard the princess was quite a stickler for facts.”

“I know from reliable source she only pretended to be when it suited her needs,” he teased her back, kissing her other temple as well. 

Lucina coughed dramatically, used but not pleased by her parent’s never ending displays of affection. 

Chrom laughed brilliantly, enough to make Robin’s heart speed up like the very first time she saw that radiant smile. He planting a sloppy kiss on her lips to the sound of their children’s loud groans. 

“Ugh, can’t you wait a few minutes?” 

“No.” Chrom shook his head, and kissed his daughter’s frown away. “Regardless, it’s late and both of you have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, dad,” Lucina said with a tired smile, settling within the comfort of her blankets.

“Goodnight my little princess,” he replied, dousing the flame of the candle next to her bed. Robin closed the curtains properly. “And you too, Morgan. Try not to keep your sister up too long, okay?”

He nodded tiredly, blowing out the candle next to their bed, covering their small room in darkness.

“Sweet dreams,” Robin whispered before closing the door behind her with a sound thud.

Robin opened her mouth to scold him the second it shut, but before she could say anything, her husband pressed her against the nearest wall, and covered her lips with his own. Chrom gently coaxed her lips open with his own, kissing her until her legs started trembling and anything she wanted to say was lost in the sweet sensation of his warm hands running up her tights. 

They parted for air, their faces mere inches apart, so close that she could feel his warm breath mingling with her own. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” His voice was like a confession, barely above a whisper.

Robin cupped his chin gently, feeling the day’s old stubble scratch against her hand. 

“Flattery is not going to get you off the hook, mister,” she tried to say angrily, but Chrom knew her better than she knew herself. 

His laugh was like a breath of spring against the juncture between her neck and shoulder, kissing his way down and down. “Maybe I don’t  _ want  _ to get off the hook.”

“Chrom!” Robin exclaimed far too loud for their thin-walled home, and the second the sound had left her lips she covered them, wide eyed.

Her husband’s lips left her neck, and he opted to meet her eyes instead with the same hunger. Chrom had aged gracefully, wrinkles seamlessly blending with old hairline scars, adding a rugged handsomeness to his features, complimented by a few grey strands left and right. 

“You’re not supposed to call me that outside of the bedroom, darling,” he whispered hotly against her lips.

Robin swallowed deeply, her eyes wide. After all these years, his charms had not faded. If anything a lifetime spent together had made her even more susceptible to it. “A-and you’re not supposed to tell stories like that to our children.”

Chrom’s laugh was rich as he pulled away from her, taking with him his delicious warmth, but not for long. “What? Are you going to chide me for lying, my dear hypocritical wife?” He said as he grabbed her hand and pulled her into their shared bedroom. It was as small as their children’s room was, but they had never needed much space when they were together anyway. 

Robin didn’t even have time to close the door properly before she was once more pressed against it. What was with her husband and doors today? “We promised to wait with that story until they were old enough, remember?”

“We’ve been saying that for years and years. Lucina is older than we were when we first met, old enough to have some say about her life, I think we can both agree.”

“We were young and foolish back then, despite what we thought of ourselves,” Robin argued back while her husband’s hands travelled lower and lower, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind in his wake. “Besides, we grew up in a different world. Our children have been spared the childhood we had.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, never taking his eyes of her while he kissed her sweetly. “But they are your children as much as they are mine, which means they have been blessed with an incredible intelligence as well as dashingly good looks. Sooner or later, they are going to put the pieces together themselves, and I’d rather have them hear it from us than from… well anyone else really.”

Robin giggled softly and ruffled his hair affectionately. “You’re probably right, mister ‘ _ good looks’ _ .” 

“Of course I’m right.”

“Don’t ruin your victory with cockyness, Chrom.”

His smile turned boyish. “You like my-” but she cut him off with a kiss before he could finish that sentence.

“Don’t even go there, sweetheart,” she added slowly afterwards, tracing the shape of his lips with her finger. They were slightly cracked from working out in the open fields every day, but she had seen them bloodied and beaten before. After decades of love, he could be bright green and covered in welts, and she would still think him the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes upon. 

His hands travelled hungrily underneath the fabric of her dress, expertly undoing the strings that held it together. She remembered a time when they weren’t so sure and experienced, when every touch brought a blush to his cheeks.

She hadn’t embellished the story too much. The beginning was true, at least. Chrom had been at an awkward height during the ball in honor of the peace between Ylisse and Plegia, and her own body had been equally awkward, caught between that of a child and a woman. Their parents had been too busy exchanging polite insults to notice the way their eyes had locked, how the clocks had stopped ticking and the the world was changed forever for two young royals. They had shared only one dance that night, but while Chrom was hardly a great dancer and had stepped on her toes several times, she had felt like she had been floating among the clouds the entire time. 

_ ‘Love at first sight,’  _ the stories told her. But this was more than that. This was nothing like the flimsy infatuation that spurred many a young man into action, only to abandon his lady love for another, prettier one a few chapters later. 

And she had been right. Chrom had haunted her every waking moment and her dreams too, until the fragile peace came to an end and they met once again, this time in a dance of war and bloodshed. But even on the battlefield as her sworn enemy, they executed their dance flawlessly, as if it was choreographed by the gods themselves. Whenever he grazed her flesh, he would kiss it better later with as much passion, often taking all night to express his sincerest apologies.

It was a miracle that Lucina wasn’t conceived before her nineteenth birthday, considering the foolish amount of times they risked to see each other again, Robin thought with a smile. Young and foolish indeed.

Chrom caressed the slightly raised corner of her lips with his index finger, making it rise even higher. “What are you thinking of?”

“Us,” Robin admitted before taking his finger into her mouth, biting it slightly while keeping a firm eye contact, enjoying the way his eyes widened at her actions.

“You don’t just have to think about that, my dear,” he added with a playful wink, pulling his finger back only to hook it behind the strap of her dress, easily pulling it down now that the strings in the back were undone.

Robin allowed him to push the dress down all the way till it hit the ground and stepped out of it, allowing her husband to take off her undergarments as well. He appreciated her naked form shamelessly, brushing against her nipple far more times than was necessary to undo her bra. “I wasn’t thinking of  _ that _ .”

“Then what were you thinking of?” Chrom answered with a low voice that pitched slightly higher the second Robin palmed him through his loose trousers, feeling his cock grow with every touch she lavished onto it.

“The story.” Then, after a short pause, she corrected herself: “Our story, the one that happened after your ‘happy ever after’.”

Chrom stopped playing with her nipples, his fingers trailing off to an old, white stretch mark on her stomach, a crooked scar next to a straight one made by his own blade so long ago. 

Even as a jaded, war wary nineteen-year-old, Robin had known that sooner or later she would end up pregnant. But for some reason, she had always imagined that it would happen sometime in the unforeseeable future, when a miraculous peace between their nations was forged and she wore his wedding ring around her finger, and not hidden against her heart underneath layers of clothing. But when her stomach slowly swelled and took her vitality along with it, she had wasted no time to confront her lover with the news.

That day could have ended like the one in her story if fate had been more cruel to them. But they had met the night before the showdown, and decided that the future they believed in did not lie in their parent’s expectations, but in the child that slumbered within her. The next day, Crown Princess Robin of Plegia died at the hands of Prince Chrom of Ylisse, taking him with her to the grave and leaving two scorched bodies, a few tattered pieces of her cloak, and his sword behind. They were mourned by friends and family for years and years afterwards, bringing a temporary halt to the war between the two grieving kingdoms.

In the chaos that followed, nobody noticed the two nameless lovers that slipped away with only a satchel of gold and the clothing on their backs, bearing a striking resemblance to the fallen royals. 

They walked for five solid months, every day another step forward until dry sand turned to mud and sandy dunes to snow topped mountains. Slowly but surely, the cold winds gave way for warmer weather. When spring finally arrived, so did their child. 

Eventually they settled somewhere between Plegia and Ylisse, just far south enough to escape attention from the warring troops. There were plenty of broken farms and empty fields in these wastelands, neglected homes of soldiers that didn’t live to return to them, ruined cities that nobody bothered to rebuild, for they would only be raided before too long.  But on the war-torn border of their two beloved kingdoms was the last place anyone would expect to find a prince and princess in disguise, and so Chrom and Robin rolled up their sleeves, gathered some other wandering souls, and rebuilt what had been lost.

It was a long process for two people who had lived in the lap of luxury for all of their lives, one that took many years, but eventually paid off. The soil was too far gone to grow crops, but the weeds that sprung up in their place were resilient and plentiful, certainly enough to raise a flock of livestock.

“A shepherd once more,” Chrom had joked before leading his sheep with as much fervor as he had once led an army. This time there was no blood on his hands, no sword nor shield, but a child tugged against his back, brabbling her first words into his ear while he worked. It’s an improvement, he whispered into Robin’s ear at night, pressed against them in their tiny wooden cottage with only their little girl between them, sleeping soundly to the drum of her parent’s heartbeat. 

Adjusting to life as a commoner was harder than Robin had originally expected it to be. She walked and talked like a high-born lady, her hands too soft for a farmer’s daughter. But no one ever mentioned it when she curtsies out of habit every time she meets the priest on the street, and in turn does she not remark upon the fact that his wife is a Plegian Sorceress, casting in Grima’s name, while he himself has dedicated his life to Naga. There were no more than a hundred people living in their little town by the second year, but none would be there if it hadn’t been for the mysterious couple.

And so lips curled into a generous smiles, and the townsfolk pretended to be blind and deaf when anyone slipped up.  Children were taught to look the other way, to question not what laid in the past, only to focus on the future ahead of them. Their community was a patchwork of outcasts and turncoats, but a thriving one nonetheless. And no one belonged here more than them.

Time passed quickly, days filled from dawn till dusk with repairs and crying babies, a few more with each passing year. An orphaned farmer and his wife made their home in their little hamlet, growing crops despite all odds and teaching former soldiers how to build instead of destroy. That his wife does not age along with him goes unmentioned, just like the war that brewed not too far away from their oasis of peace.

In the north, two families fought, their countries their arena, their people their chess pieces. In the south another blue-haired baby is born, screaming into the world. They name him Morgan, in honor of a past best forgotten. 

Robin closed her eyes and her mind, waving away the past like she had been doing consistently every night for the past sixteen years. It’s wasn’t too hard with Chrom’s head between her legs, knowing exactly how to slowly drag his tongue past all of her sweet spots in one smooth motion, making her bite her the inside of her cheek and her mind go blank.

She whispers his name like a religious chant while makes her come undone, and for a fleeting moment Robin forgets the world she left behind for him. 

When the sun rises the next morning and wakes them harshly in a bed that is too hard to ever give her any comfort, Robin dismisses the nightmares one by one. Instead she watches her husband mutter “five more minutes” against her chest as he clutches her firmly against his body, and imagines a life without him. It’s a world of plentitude, in both gold and blood, and not a bone in Robin’s sleep fogged body regrets the choice they made. She never has.


	2. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two mornings: one filled with quiet despair and one with gentle hope.

Emmeryn didn’t cry on the morning of her husband’s funeral. He wasn’t her first husband, and he won’t be her last if her father has any say in it. Still, he had been a pleasant enough man, who had showed her nothing but respect. Their marriage of fourteen years was one of trust and peace, until the Plague took him away from her. Well, not from  _ her  _ per se. Her lord husband was ever a friend of her, but never a lover. That right belonged to Lady Olivia, a handmaiden too low in station to marry the Duke she loved.

Emmeryn clutched the woman eight years her junior to her chest, allowing Olivia to lean on her while she sobbed in earnest. Inigo stood steadfast at her other side, the fakest smile she had ever seen etched on his face but his hand trembling uncontrollably in her own. The boy put on a brave front, but the second the ceremony was over Emmeryn knew he would collapse all the same.

She had never minded sharing Virion with Olivia, especially not since they had in turn shared the  child he had with Olivia with her. Theirs had been an arranged affair, two souls joined for the prosperity of both their nations, and not for the sakes of their hearts. She had no children of her own blood, and there would never be any either if Emmeryn had any say in the matter, much to her parents despair. Still, he had been a pleasant, intelligent man, and she would miss their conversations dearly.  

Her father spoke a few curt yet kind words at his son-in-law’s funeral, and Lissa and Owain put flowers on his newly dug grave. They brought a few extra for after the ceremony, beautiful blue cornflowers. Her mother’s face was grim, but as stoic as she had ever been. Nobody said it, but Emmeryn knew they had all thought it at some point or another: they had buried too many people already, had come to expect loss at this point, to truly be as affected as they should be. 

_ Who will perish next _ , Emmeryn wondered morbidly to herself, quietly appalled by her own lack of tears. Grief was an old friend to her, one whose visits became less painful every time he came, as he always inevitably did.

A drop of spring rain fell on her nose as the priest of Naga finished his speech and closed the book, handing it to Inigo. “The Duke is dead, long live the Duke,” he added soberly with a formal bow.  

The fifteen-year-old boy stiffened, but Emmeryn released his hand and gave him a little push. With a remarkable amount of grace for a boy who had just lost his father, he accepted the ceremonial transfer of power. 

The Exalt averted his eyes with a small scowl that nobody but his immediate family noticed. Time and again her father had tried to send Olivia and Inigo away, but as Crown Princess she still held some power. She had tried to protect the boy from court and all the whispers his illegitimate birth brought with it. He had shouldered the burden bravely with a smile, but she had known him since he was a toddler, and knew that the words that seemed to bounce right off him actually struck true. Those same nobles wouldn’t dare to repeat those words now that he had become the new Duke of Roseanne, but Emmeryn didn’t envy the poor boy in the slightest.

Another raindrop hit her bare shoulder. Slowly but surely the crowd dissipated, uttering words of condolence to her in their passing. The sporadic drop turned into a gentle drizzle by the time only her immediate family remained.

For a brief moment, Emmeryn’s eyes slipped over the grave next to her departed husband’s, and her broken heart skipped a beat. Virion, at least, had lived all of his days to the fullest, working behind the scenes day after day to ensure that his people would one day know peace. They had shared that ambition, build a relationship around it and allowed it to drag them through their worst days. 

Chrom never had that luxury. Despite how ancient she felt on days like these, forty-two could hardly be considered an old age. But her brother had merely been twenty years old, slain in the spring of his life. Had it already been sixteen years since they had lost him? After all of these years, she still expected him to return from war some day with a determined smile on his face and a hollow look in his eyes, but at the very least alive!

But fate was hardly ever that kind, and all they had today was an empty grave and the cornflowers that grew on top of it remember him by. She had been spared the sight, but according to her father there had been too little left of him to bury it. She still remembered her father’s face that day when he told them the news, crown resting askew on his head and ten extra years added to eyes over the course of a single week. He had doubled his war efforts afterward, claiming vengeance against Plegia. Queen Morgana happily met his blade with her own, for it had taken her only daughter’s life to take down the prince. They both commanded their troops with a cruel recklessness, and Emmeryn couldn’t help but wonder if they wished for death to take them too. 

Today, her father could still not stay at his son’s grave for too long, and under the guise of having to entertain his guests, he briskly left the rest of her family alone in the graveyard. While her father was haunted by the place, her mother the Queen had a habit of pinning away at it instead, keeping the headstone as clean and proper as it had been the day it was placed. 

When Emmeryn wished to mourn her brother, she instead went to the fields where they had all played as children, the same place where family and friends had scattered the Chrom’s ashes. Those sweet summer days, innocently spent under the sun seemed like a lifetime ago, and most playmates had long moved on. Chrom’s life’s work, the Shepherds, quickly fell apart after his death, and his friends -  out of duty or out of grief - had scattered into all four directions of the wind. Today, only a handful of it’s former members remained at Ylisstol. 

But some of them refused to leave, like Frederick, who opened an umbrella and held it over her head. Emmeryn didn’t have the heart to tell him she enjoyed the cold drops of rain traveling through her clothing, grounding her in the here and now. 

“Are you ready to go inside now, Milady?” He asked her gently, his brow furrowed.

Emmeryn sighed, but shook her head. 

She turned her back on the old tomb, and kneeled in front of the new one. There were roses of every kind scattered atop of the it, but one caught her eye: a light blue one, almost the exact color of Virion’s hair. She took the rose, and pressed it carefully against her lips before placing it against the headstone once more.  _ Goodbye, my dear friend. _

Today she would play the part of the grieving widow, but tomorrow life resumed, and she would pick up where Virion had left off, and do everything to stop the senseless fighting that had plagued their nations long before either of them was born.

But first, she had to preserve the peace in her own house. With that thought in mind, she carefully put her hand on Inigo’s head, drawing his attention. He was her height, but wouldn’t be for much longer, she wagered. Now that the guests were gone, his eyes were red and tear-swollen, his smile long gone. 

“Come, Inigo,” she whispered sweetly, offering him her arm. “Tomorrow is a new day, and your father will be watching over you, so you’d best try hard to make him proud.”

She watched him take a deep breath, and cast one last glance at the tombstone before collecting himself. Like a true gentleman - or perhaps more accurately, like his father had done many times before - he took her arm in his own and guided her into the castle. None of the guests were any the wiser that it was him who leaned on her, but that was a secret she would gladly keep. 

_ Virion, Chrom… wherever you are now,  _ she thought to herself, _ I hope that both of you are at least at peace.  _

 

* * *

 

 

“Mom?” Lucina asked in the early morning while she helped her mother make some lunches for the rest of the family. Morgan was still getting ready for the morning, as he always took a bit more time.

Her mother didn’t even look up from her work, quickly cutting some salted vegetables in perfectly equal pieces. “What’s wrong honey?”

“I was about to ask you that.” Her words made her mother look up, showing Lucina the bags underneath her eyes. While it was hard to tell with her tanned skin, she seemed a bit pale, and there was something distant in her eyes. “You’ve been looking a bit…  _ off  _ all morning.”

“I’ve never been a morning person, dear. Your brother didn’t get that from a stranger.” She stifled a yawn to prove her point. That was true, at least. Her mother got up early every morning to prepare food for her father before he left with the flock. Her father got up roughly around the same time to do some small repairs around the house, and to check up on the sheep. He did so with a smile though, always whistling a tune to himself while his mother could hardly speak before the sun started rising.

Her mother was his polar opposite, as she tended to be in most things. And while it was generally a bad idea to approach her mother with questions in the morning, she was especially quiet today, even by her standard, and Lucina couldn’t help but wonder.

“Are you sure that’s all there is?” She pressed on. “Father was looking a bit off today as well.”

Her mother sighed and put down her knife. “We’ve learned of some troubling news this morning, that’s all,” she said breezily, but her eyes betrayed her as she sent a worried look in the direction of the frontdoor. Only now did Lucina notice that her father’s whistle was absent. “He’ll be back to his old self soon, don’t you worry about it.”

_ ‘Don’t you worry about it’  _ was her mother’s way of telling her not to put her nose in places where it did not belong. She’d been hearing it all her life, and frankly, Lucina was getting sick of always being left in the dark.

“What happened?” She asked against better judgement.

For a moment she thought that her mother wouldn’t answer. She rarely got angry, but a single look could frighten Lucina as much as father’s raised voice. Not that either of them ever did so, but she didn’t want to annoy her parents into thinking she was still a little child either, that rarely got her anywhere. 

But then her mother surprised her. “An old friend of his passed away a few weeks ago. We already missed the funeral, so there is no sense in leaving the village, but you’ll have to excuse your father for feeling a bit down today.” Her voice was almost disinterested, but it didn’t fool Lucina.

“Which friend? Is it someone from the village?”

Her mother shook her head. “No, not someone you know.” 

As expected. They were a small, tight-knit community of barely a hundred people. Her mother taught all the village children, and her father provided wool and meat for most surrounding households. Being as isolated as they were, news tended to travel fast whenever something happened, no matter how small. “Then who? You two barely ever leave this village!” 

“It’s nothing you should worry about honey,” her mother repeated once more with a voice akin to Libra’s, the local priest. “Life and death are equals, a complementary duo. Sooner or later Grima comes to take back what Naga has given us.”

Before her mother could start reciting the scriptures, Lucina interrupted her. “I know that, mom. It’s just… you never tell us anything about what happened before you came here,” she added finally with a soft voice, almost afraid to voice her thoughts.

Her mother looked at her strangely, staring at her one, damaged eye for a very long eye, until it became so awkward that Lucina had to look away. She couldn’t see too well with it, but her parents had never been too concerned about it.  _ ‘A family affliction, nothing to worry about,’ _ her father said with a smile. But when she asked him who else had it he always remained silent, kissing her on the forehead instead or distracting her with promises of sword practice. 

Lucina was really starting to hate those words. Couldn’t she decide for herself what she wanted to worry about and what not?

“Oh, I can assure you my life was boring before I met your father. I fought in the war, as did he. And when we no longer could, we settled here, to have you and your brother,” her mother replied vaguely while cleaning their kitchen.

“You always say that, but Laurent says-” Lucina stopped herself before she could finish her sentence.

“What does Laurent say?” Her mother asked in a deceptively soft voice, her eyes dangerously narrowed.

Lucina swallowed, looking away. “He says the magic you teach us is not something very common, especially not in Ylisse.”

“Well, I never said I was from Ylisse, my dear. Besides, Aunty Tharja also casts magic like I do, doesn’t she?”

“I suppose...” That wasn’t all Laurent said, though never to anyone but her. Morgan, Nah and Noire couldn’t keep a secret to save their lives, and nobody wanted to make Yarne any more frightened than he already was, really. Gerome had been keeping his distance lately, flying off with his mother’s wyvern more often than not. “But I’m not a fool mother. I know you and father are hiding  _ something _ . I could hear you arguing yesterday evening.”

“Oh, really?” Her mother echoed with a telltale blush on her face, one eyebrow raised high. “We’ll try to be quieter next time.”

Lucina resisted the urge to retch. “Ew, mom. I didn’t want to know that.” It wasn’t like they never heard  _ that  _ either, but that didn’t mean she wanted her mother to acknowledge it! Why couldn’t her parents be like Laurent’s parents, who could at least keep their hands off each other when they were in the same room? Didn’t they know how embarrassing it was for her? 

Her mother chuckled warmly, and reached forward to put a few strands of Lucina’s blue hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek fondly. “You’re growing up so fast, my dear. I promise you we’ll tell you everything about our past once you’re a bit older.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” Lucina retorted, pushing her mother’s hand away. “I just… I want to know where my roots are, beyond this little village. I’m not going to stay here forever, you know. I want to be more than just a shepherd.”

If she didn’t know better, she would have said that her mother looked scared for a second. But before she could be certain, the emotion was replaced by a caring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know dear, I know. But things are not that simple,” she said patiently.

“I  _ know _ ! But there is war out there, and I can’t just stay here forever on the border of oblivion, and do nothing! I feel like I can make a change in this world, and I just…” Lucina trailed off. Couldn’t they see that she was bored in this little village, tending to sheep? She lived for the swordfighting lessons her dad gave her every now and then, and she was good at it too!

But her mother looked unimpressed. “And what side would you join, then? Which one is right and which one is wrong?”

“I…” Lucina opened and closed her mouth a few times, the answer on her tongue not quite right each time. She hadn’t even considered picking a side. The heroes never had to, in the stories.

As always, it was like her mother read her mind. “Life is nothing like your father’s stories, my dear. There is no great evil in this world, nor is there a great good. Instead there are thousand shades of grey, and all of them are splattered with the blood of their enemies,” she explained, a distant look in her eyes her mother always got when she spoke about the war. 

Her mother’s hand started trembling, and Lucina regretted bringing up the subject. She had already been shaken, why did Lucina think it was a good idea to talk about a past they were obviously not keen on remembering?

But before she could apologize, her mother spoke again. “But I suppose it is my own fault that you don’t know all about that…”

Her mother had taught her to seize every opportunity she could, and while Lucina took after her father in most things, she was at least shared her opportunism with her mother. “And that is why I need you to stop treating me as a child! I know that there is some great secret here, and I’ve never questioned you outside of these walls, but I’m not blind, mother.”

Her mother sighed once more, and started washing her hands, absentmindedly rubbing her fingers raw. “Maybe your father was right after all,” she muttered softly to hersefl before turning back to Lucina. The woman who looked back was nothing like her mother, who she knew to be determined and ever-prepared. This woman looked her age, fragile and scared. 

It surprised Lucina, but her hunger for knowledge won out. “I’m sorry mother… but I need to know.”

“... Tonight then?” She answered softly, handing Lucina one of the packed lunches.

Her eyes went wide, and she nearly dropped the package. “Really?”

“Really!” Her mother said with a nervous smile. “It’s a long story and I’ll have to talk your father about it first, but if he agrees, which I have a feeling he will, I’ll explain you exactly why we live here on the edge of the world.”

“Thank you mom!” She hugged her mother, enveloping her in a warm bear hug, squeezing her tight. Had her mother always been this thin? Lucina quickly let go when she felt her mother returned stiffly. 

When they parted, she saw her father had entered the house and was looking at them with a small smile on his face. “Sweetheart? Is everything ready?” He asked, and for the first time Lucina realized that she had never heard her father call her mother by her name in her entire life. “I have to leave soon or the sheep will get anxious.”

Her mother visibly hesitated before handing her father his lunch, plus an extra one. “Wait a minute my dear, I’ll be joining you today on your rounds,” she said slowly, as if every word had another meaning.

If they did, her father did not seem to catch up on it. “You will? Don’t you have classes to teach today?”

Her mother shook her head with a small smile. “I’m sure the children won’t mind a day off. Besides, we need to talk. I promised Lucina we would speak of our past tonight.”

Her father promptly dropped the staff he was holding. It fell to the ground with a loud clang, one that made her mother flinch away and the dog bark. “Really?” He asked her incredulously, and her mother nodded, though reluctantly. Lucina quickly averted her eyes as her father took four big strides forward and swooped his wife into his arms, probably to kiss her or something. She really wish they would stop doing that in front of her all the time, considering the fact that they were practically  _ ancient _ .

“I’m still here, you know,” she reminded them after a few seconds.

They quickly parted, both blushing like teenagers caught in the act. Honestly, how old were they?

“And Morgan?” Her father asked quickly.

“If we tell one, we might as well tell the other.” 

Her father nodded.  _ Did they think she couldn’t keep a secret from her brother or something?  _

Before Lucina could voice her protests, her mother continued. “But all of that has to wait. I want to visit the market in Lindor this afternoon as well, do you mind changing your route a little bit so we will pass it by?”

“I’m sure the dog won’t mind, nor will the sheep. They like having you around, and so do I for that matter.” As if that hadn’t been clear to everyone in the room, her mother still had the audacity to blush, punching her father gently on the shoulder. Her father then turned to her. “Lucina, this means you’re in charge of the house. Watch after your little brother, okay?” 

His eyes went to the coat rack for a second, where they hid their weapons, out of few of any surprise visitors but always close enough to reach in a time of need.

Lucina nodded. “Of course, father.”

“Oh, and could you please tell the other children that today’s lessons are cancelled? We’ll tell everyone on our way out, but I doubt we’ll just happen to run into all of my students,” her mother asked quickly, her cloak already halfway on. For some reason her mother refused to go anywhere without packing at least two days worth of food and water, and only inside did she ever take off the hood of her cloak.  _ ‘She’s a private person,’ _ her father had once explained to her when she asked why, as if that explained everything. It didn’t, but then again, her parents had never been big on explaining. Maybe that would change after tonight, Lucina thought with a wide smile.

“No classes today? Aww…” Came a disappointed voice from the hall, and before long the person to whom it belonged appeared as well. Morgan’s bright blue hair was as disheveled as ever, to their mother’s eternal despair.

Lucina ruffled it slightly, just to annoy him. “We can always practise a bit in the yard,” she promised him with a meaningful nudge of her head.

Morgan nodded, his eyes flickering outside of the window. Did she say Morgan couldn’t keep a secret? Well, that wasn’t true, he just couldn’t keep a secret from her. Their parents on the other hand… 

As predicted, her mother immediately started worrying over it. “But be careful, all of you, and try to stay out of sight of soldiers, and-”

“They know the drill, dear,” their father interrupted her with a kiss on the lips, effectively silencing her. For once, Lucina didn’t mind too much. Her mother sighed, knowing she was outnumbered. 

“Dad, I think the sheeps are starting to eat the fruit trees again,” Morgan interrupted them suddenly, pointing out of the window.

“Those damn impatient beasts…,” Her father’s eyes widened, following Morgan’s gaze. And indeed, the white coat of one of their sheeps colored a pretty red in the light of the rising sun while it ate a few leaves from the young fruit trees their parents had planted last year. Her father rushed out, their dog hot on his heels with his tail a-wagging.

“Take care, sweethearts. We’ll be back around sundown,” her mother promised before rushing after him, carrying both of their bags. She slammed the door behind them, and Lucina watched them slowly but surely herd the sheep together to the east, away from their little cottage on the outskirts of town.

When she turned around again, her brother was looking at her with a conspirator’s smile. “So, what are we  _ really  _ going to do today?” He asked her between bites.

Lucina considered staying home and taking care of some of her mother’s cleaning duties to show them that she really was old and responsible enough to know the elusive truth they had been hiding from the both of them for all of their lives.

But Morgan’s eyes were dark with a lust for adventure that she knew mirrored in her own, and what her parents didn’t know, couldn’t hurt them. “We could trek out into the fields again. Practise a bit on some living targets again,” she proposed.

Morgan punched the air excitedly. “Finally! It’s been weeks, and Laurent got me a new thunder tome yesterday, and I’ve been dying to test it out. Also mom hasn’t allowed me to cast Nosferatu ever since I accidentally made Noire pass out.”

Lucina sighed. Noire was as pale as her father, and twice as fragile as the senior priest. “You’d think she’d be used to it after all the stuff her mother tests out on her.”

Morgan let out a scandalized gasp. “That was mean, Lucina.” 

“It’s true though. I mean, I’m pretty used to it from all the times you cast it on me,” she said, throwing her hands up in defense at the same time. Ever since they were young children, their parents had drilled magic and sword fighting into them, along with their letters and numbers. Her eye prevented her from reading very fast, which was not an issue in her daily life, but handicapped her swift spellcasting. While it also affected her depth-perception, she had long trained to overcome that flaw. Now, she could beat most creatures without even seeing them, relying on her warrior’s instinct.

Lately, creatures straight out of horror stories were becoming a more and more frequent sight, and while her sword sliced through it without effort, she did wish she could easily kill them from a distance like Morgan could.

Something in her face must have given her thoughts away, because Morgan seemed to read her mind. “Yeah, someone has to take care of those… things…”

“Risen, Laurent called them.”

“You’ve been talking an awful lot to Laurent, haven’t you?” Morgan said teasingly, but Lucina merely whacked him on top of the head with the back of her hand. 

“It’s nice to speak to someone with an ounce of common sense every now and then. Heavens know that you could use a bit more of that,” she chided him.

“Why don’t you just admit you’re in loooooovveee~?”

Lucina frowned. What did love have to do with talking to anyone? “Don’t be ridiculous, Morgan. Also, you need to bandage your hand again, I can see your birthmark.”

Morgan groaned loudly, picking at the brown strips off leather mother forced to wear him at all times, revealing a hint of the odd purplish mark underneath.. “Why would I? I’m going to take them off anyway as soon as we’re out of the village.” Lucina send him one of their mother’s patented scorching glares, still remembering the way mother had freaked out the day the mark had appeared on her little brother’s hand. He had been six, and probably barely remembered her tears of utter panic, but Lucina would never forget. “What? It’s not like anyone will see it underneath the old cloak. Besides, it hinders my spellcasting, and I’d rather have all my power against those creatures.”

“You know mother would have you grounded if she ever saw you do that.”

Morgan rolled his eyes, sending her a pointed look. “Just like she would kill us all for going out into the field and - gods forbid - put our skills good use, to actually help people. Which, if I remember correctly, was your idea to begin with.”

“Still,” she argued back weakly. She hated the way he sounded when he was right, so instead she threw him the bag of packed lunches, which he caught easily out of the air. “Let’s go, before the others wait for mom in vain forever. Can you pack my sword for me as well when you get your stuff?”

“Sure.” And before she knew it, he had already ran to their shared room. What their parents didn’t know was that underneath Morgan’s bed, they had dislodged one of the floorboards and hidden some of their secret possessions. Chief amongst them were the tomes they weren’t allowed to use and the cloak their mother had once wanted to burn, but Morgan had procured from the flames before the sturdy material could catch flames. He was still too young to wear the armor she had stolen off a walking corpse once, hindered by the weight rather than protected by the steel. The heavy cloak was large on him, but protected him from magic and worse, probably due to some enchantment that neither Laurent nor himself had been able to crack. It allowed him so relative safety while still keeping his speed.

When he returned from their room with two bags full of their hidden equipment, she had already crafted a letter for their parents just in case they returned before them to an empty house.   “Ready?” he asked, grinning eagerly and bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking the thirteen-year-old he was for once.

As much as she loved to tease him, he was growing up a bit too fast for her, already nearly as tall as she was.  _ Had really that much time passed since they had played with wooden swords between the sheep, tripping over young lambs and rolling around in piles of freshly shorn wool?  _ She thought while she walked out of the house, taking in the fresh morning air. 

Morgan locked the door behind them with a quick spell and quickly caught up with her, matching her pace without a second thought without effort. 

_ Time hadn’t really changed them, at least,  _ Lucina thought with a grin. “With you by my side? Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for the kind words. I'm glad people are enjoying this! I'm currently 5 chapters in, and will be posting them one by one, on Mondays.
> 
> I hope everyone can feel the time bomb ready to blow up. I had too much fun writing a teenage Lucina who had a sheltered childhood instead of a world despair, and I tried to introduce some of the other children as well. Nanowrimo is going well so far, I hope I can keep this up!


	3. Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things go downhill, and fast.

Some battles were fought in the fields with steel and magic. Others, Morgana thought to herself while she walked through the halls of her private quarters, were fought with words alone. But that didn’t make them any less important.

Whenever Morgana needed to make a point at court, she put on the long robes  befitting of a queen, made of shimmering silk, colored black, blood red and gold. She was a short woman, but when she wore her crown with her head held high and her many layered skirts billowing up behind her, none would dare to oppose her. A single flick of her wrist was enough to persuade the guards in front of her husband’s chambers to move out of the way, each of them bowing deeper than the last, quickly opening the door for her.

The moment the doors opened the heavy smell of incense assaulted her nostrils. It was dark, with just a few candles lit, barely enough for her to make out a dark figure resting on a lounge chair in the corner. A servant girl tended him diligently, adjusting the many layers of his intricate robes. Morgana did not pay attention to her, or her disheveled, quickly thrown on uniform.

“Leave me alone with my husband,” she barked with a low voice, watching the girl’s eyes go wide.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she uttered out quickly between her several bows, her eyes glued to the ground respectfully, and left the room without another word.

Her husband watched her leave with disinterest, before turning his eyes upon his wife. “What’s wrong, my beloved?” Validar said in a silky smooth voice, his hand already coming forward to caress her cheek, as if the same hand hadn’t just been touching some young _peasant_ girl.

“Spare me the sweet talk!” Morgana slapped it away, raising her voice to an ice-cold pitch. Validar looked unapologetic, lazily drawing himself to his full height. He easily towered over her, but Morgana had only once been afraid of him, and that was a long time ago. “I have allowed you your mistresses in the past, but I thought that you at least had some standards!”

“I am married to the greatest woman in this world and the next. What makes you think I did not have the highest standard in women?” He countered with a sly smile on his face.

The thought that her anger amused him was enough to douse it. Instead, she took a different approach, and lowered herself into what she knew was his favorite chair.

“Then why do I keep running into your bastards?”

Validar’s smile disappeared instantly, and an old familiar look of annoyance took it’s place. “Is this about Aversa again? I swear to you, she was conceived long before our marriage, in a ritual for the benefit of-”

Morgana raised her hand, silencing him effectively. “Spare me the religious prattle, I’ve endured it enough when our daughter was born. For all your prophecies, it helped her little when she needed them most.”

Their marriage hadn’t been a love match. He was her King Consort, chosen for her by her own mother when she was only two years old. Together, they represented the two realms of their state: the earthly and the heavenly plane. Validar had full autonomy on all religious decisions of Plegia, but in all worldly matters, Morgana’s word was final.

In theory, it should ensure a healthy balance of power. In reality it was a lifetime of struggle between two parties who wished to reach opposite goals with the same resources. The one thing that had always united them was their one and only child, Robin of Plegia.

Neither of them needed to mention her name in order to cool all the anger in the room, if only a little. Validar sighed, ran a hand through his oily black hair, and sat down next to her on a smaller chair, that was more befitting of a servant. His clammy hands found their way around hers, and for once she did not mind them. “I miss our daughter as much as you do, Morgana.”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Do you? Then why was that girl here, on the day of her death? That didn’t look very grieving to me.”

“Don’t push your anger on me. It was not _I_ that send her to lead your troops!” Her husband didn’t need to yell to rile her up, his words would do that just fine on their own. “I would have never risked such a precious gift, but she was always your heir first and foremost.”

“She had Plegia’s benefit in mind, as did I! Maybe you could learn a thing or two from her, instead of siring bastards with Ylissean whores!”

Validar’s face darkened considerably. “Whatever gave you the idea that I would touch such _filth_?” It wasn’t easy to insult him, but then again, they had been married for forty long years.

Morgana held up her hand dangerously close to his face, and touched the back of her hand. “A boy running around in the countryside, with your cursed mark etched into his skin, wearing a grimleal robe and casting black magic like the best of us.”

“Impossible!” Her husband exclaimed, but instead of outrage there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes that should not have been there. “It hasn’t been sighted since… since Robin. Only the purest-”

Morgana barely resisted the urge to slap him in the face. “Don’t deny it, I’ve had several reports of him and a small ragtag of band of other Ylissean teenagers protecting travelling merchants from your creations…. did you know the Risen are attacking our citizens as well now?”

“A puppet is only as good as it’s puppeteer, and you have been pushing me to allow more new recruits into my Grimleal, and those woefully under trained mages can hardly be expected to perform such an intricate ritual perfectly,” Validar countered remorsefully, once again putting the blame for his mistakes back on her shoulders. “As for the child… I have not been with any woman you have not selected for me, as was our agreement. I keep my eye on Aversa at all times, and would know if she had borne me a grandson. However, my brother was never bound to reason…”

For a second, Morgana considered the man. He was talented, yes, but equally unhinged. He was married though, happily so, to a girl named Brenna. “Gangrel may be a bit of a madman, he is at least a faithful one. You, on the other hand…”

Validar ignored her insult with practised ease. “Anyone who dares to desert from my ranks are found long before they can procreate, and dealt with accordingly. I don’t doubt _my_ people, and who says they are the ones at fault here? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve acted on false information, my dearest. For all we know, some kid might just have gotten a tattoo on the wrong place.” He muttered something else afterwards that Morgana couldn’t quite catch.

He wasn’t completely wrong. In reality, her spies had only reported a small militia with remarkable skill for a group of farmers. It had been the merchant alone that had tipped her off on the mark. She didn’t know the full significance of the mark, but she did remember the intense reaction Validar’s inner circle had when it had shown up on Robin’s skin. The shade of purple was hard to recreate, especially since the colors tended to flow between light and dark, like wet water paint, ever moving. Religion might not be her area of expertise, but it was a sight she would never forget.

And yet, his words brought a sliver of doubt. You can trust a gossiping merchant to tell a good story when he sees one, but can you trust him to tell the truth as well? Today marked the sixteen year anniversary of the day Robin’s charred body was brought before her, the day her heart shattered beyond mending. Morgana had grieved long and hard, but eventually endured for the sake of her beloved country. And still, even after all those years and all the Ylissean blood she had spilled in revenge, it still got to her sometimes.

However, snow would fall in Plegia before she would admit that to Validar, and so she lied through her teeth. “Several unrelated sources confirm his existence. I have complete faith in my spies.”

“Then we are, as alway, at a stalemate,” her husband concluded with a sigh. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was uninterested, but the faint tilt of his lips told her enough. “Bring this mystery boy before me then. If he is somehow a spawn of mine, I will eat my words. But if he isn’t… well, there is only one punishment for impersonating a member of our holiest order. His death will be on your conscience, my dear.”

Morgana gently put her hand on his chin, holding it firmly down so he couldn’t look away while she bit out each word with a little bit more power behind it. “Do not think you can command me Validar. You may be Hierophant, but at the end you are only the consort, not regnant. And my word is still absolute.”

“I wouldn’t dream of crossing you, as you very well know.” There was a spark of fear behind his words.

 _Good_ , Morgana thought. “As for the boy… my people are already on their way. He will be here in a fortnight, two at most.”

Her husband nodded, and stood up. For a second she considered calling him back, to remind him who decided when this conversation was over, but before she could form the words, all energy had abandoned her.

Instead, she softly said, “... have you gone to her grave at all?”

Validar turned around slowly, and uncharacteristic look of genuine surprise on his face. “Of course. I prayed to Grima for hours, with only her in my thoughts.”

She didn’t pray to the gods often enough, he often told her. Other than the mandatory rituals required of her as a queen, the faith of Grima meant little to her. After all, if he was such a merciful god, why had he taken her little girl in the prime of her life?

Sixteen years, and she still dreamed of her corpse, as if it were a Risen returned to life to haunt her. Perhaps some prayer would alleviate the pain, if only a little. “Perhaps I will join you in your prayers later tonight.”

Her husband offered her his hand, and for once she allowed him to lift her back to her feet. They shared a quiet moment. Robin had had his eyes and his dark skin, and when she was annoyed, she used to squint her eyes just like Validar did. For the first time today, Morgana dared to smile a little. At least Robin’s memory was still alive.

Her husband seemed to share her thoughts, if only just a little.  “I’ll await you eagerly then, my Queen.” He kissed her hand, and allowed her to preside him out of his chambers, back to court. Despite their grief, they had a nation to rule and a war to win, and couldn’t afford more weakness than they had already shown.

 

* * *

 

Lucina swung her sword into the air, faster and faster with each strike, feeling her muscles warm up. Rounding up the their friends had been easy enough. Gerome was off on some errand, but Laurent was easily persuaded to join them with the promise of a few willing ‘test subjects’, while Noire and Nah were just happy to get out of the house most days. Yarne didn’t really want to join them, but followed them anyway when they set off without him.

As usual, they walked a few miles before their village was out of sight, and their parents wouldn’t see the armor they donned. For some reason, the further they strayed from the hamlet, the more Risen tended to pop up. Or perhaps it was the other way around, as Laurent had theorized time and again.

“Risen at four o’clock!” Nah’s disembodied voice echoed from above, and Lucina quickly turned.

There were just four of them, and they moved slower than some of the tougher foes they had faced the other day. Two sword fighters, an axe user and a mage.

“Morgan,” Lucina barked to her brother, who was already pulling off the leather strips that covered his hands with an eager look in his eyes.

His eyes scanned over their opponents, quickly taking in their weapons and skills on a single glance. When he spoke, he did so with authority. “Lucina, you focus on the warrior. His strikes are slow but powerful, so make sure that you take him down before he lands a hit on you. Noire, Laurent, try to see if you can shoot down the myrmidons before they reach us. They’re fast and precise, so the quicker they’re down, the better!”

Everyone nodded, readying their weapons.

“And me?” Yarne asked, grasping his beaststone in one hand.

Morgan flashed him a blinding smile, his voice echoing loudly over the sound of inhuman war cries. Their enemy had spotted them, and was quickly catching up on them. “We’ll be taking down the mage together, Yarne! Nah, provide air support for whomever needs it most!”

Nah gave an affirmative growl, and circled above them while the rest of them created a circle, their backs to each other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Lucina felt her heartbeat speed up, adrenaline surging through her veins and awakening a fighting spirit within her. The Risen walked on broken legs, and she counted down their steps until-

“You’ve heard him! Move out NOW, and don’t let them separate you too far from the group!” She commanded, and like a well-oiled machine, their little group jumped into Morgan’s formation, with herself standing in the front. Lucina settled her eyes on her target, allowing him to come closer to her. Its eyes were set on Noire, who probably looked like an easy prey, trembling so much that she could barely hold her bow still. Little did the creature know that the seemingly fragile girl had a dark side, but she was happy for the distraction.

Once the walking corpse came within her reach, she surged forward before any of her friends could, jumping around the creature in a wide circle. It’s head spinned unnaturally far to follow her movement, making decayed skin rip and bones crack. Lucina tried not to let it get to her, and instead suddenly changed her direction, straight for the Risen.

Like her father had showed her many times before, she swung her blade up in one strong arch, slicing straight through the thin leather armor, quickly following it up with one strong thrust, straight through the creature's chest.

The Risen cried out loudly, but these inhuman creatures weren’t felled by something that would kill a mortal. Lucina quickly jumped out of the way to avoid an axe to the face, allowing the weapon the hit the ground instead. The Risen’s movements halted for a second, and that was when Lucina seized the moment and cut it’s head straight off.

The head rolled on the ground, exploding in black gravedust seconds after.  Her eyes were already on her next target, a myrmidon that had decided to go after her instead of Noire and Laurent. Lucina quickly jumped out of the way of his sword, feeling the heat of a fireball lick her cheek as it surged past her.

"Get thee hence!" He cried as Laurent’s spell hit dead centre, disintegrating the Risen on the spot.

The other myrmidon had already been taken care off, and she heard Yarne growl a little bit away from, a victorious victory cry that quickly informed her that all their opponents had been easily taken care off.

“Everyone, regroup!” she yelled, her breath catching in her throat. During combat itself she could barely feel the strain, but afterwards it sometimes dawned on her how close she came to her death sometimes.

Nah landed between Laurent and herself, transforming back mid-air, a somewhat annoyed look in her eyes.

“You’ll get one sooner or later as well,” Lucina told her with a kind smile, handing her sandwich from her pouch. Her mother always packed enough to feed half an army, anyway.

Nah rolled her eyes, and sat down next to them, on the blanket Noire had spread out for them. The good thing about fighting Risen was that at least they didn’t have to worry about bloodstains that would be hard to explain to their parents.

She shared another one with the rest, while Morgan inspected everyone’s weapon to check how long they would be able to continue fighting with it. Yarne had snatched a Elwind tome from the mage before it disintegrated with him, over which Laurent was currently fussing. Lucina allowed herself to sit back on the soft blanket, letting the warm sun wash over her. It was getting hot, and while they lived in the steppe rather than Plegia’s famous sandy deserts, it could still be pretty unbearable. Perhaps they should be heading to the nearest oasis and wait out the hottest point of the day?

But before she could voice her thought, Yarne suddenly tensed.

“You’ll get your prey sooner rather than later, Nah,” Yarne said with a quivering voice, his sharp nose in the air. “I can already smell in the wind. Though there is something off about their scent.”

Lucina quickly got up and looked around her, but couldn’t see what Yarne was talking about. “Different, how?”

The whites of his eyes were showing. “There is the unmistakable smell of death and decay in the air, as well as a waft of blood but… it’s fresh. Nothing like the walking corpses we normally fight,” he said, his legs tense, ready to bolt at any moment. Her companions got up as well, and helped her scan the area around them. Why had they decided to have lunch in a valley again?

For some reason she couldn’t explain, a dreadful feeling was pooling in her stomach, but she quelled it quickly. Nerves were a warrior’s greatest enemy, her father had instilled upon her at a young age, and a leader should always remain fearless. Once they saw her falter, their little band would fall apart.

She took a deep breath and considered their options. “Then we’d best try to find some kind of cover, and evaluate their skill first.”

“I think it’s too late for that,” Noire exclaimed, pointing at a particularly sandy dune not too far away from them. Lucina narrowed her eyes, trying to focus her vision. And true to Noire’s word, figure after figure appeared over the hilltop, quickly approaching them.

Morgan let out a cry of relief. “They’re people! Probably just travelers, nothing to worry about.”

Yarne looked at him incredulously. “Morgan, open your eyes. Hooded figures, ominous aura, scent of death and blood hanging around them? Those are no ordinary travellers.”

“Agreed,” Lauren said, his new Elwind tome already in his hand as the figures approached them at a breakneck speed, never breaking formation. “They’re from Plegia, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Wherever they’re from, I doubt they’re friendly,” Lucina summed up, feeling her heart beat loudly in her chest.

Mere seconds after the words left her mouth, a ball of dark energy appeared above the group, and shot straight towards them.

“How on earth did they manage to fire magic from such a long distance?” Laurent wondered, looking at his impending doom with a scientific interest.

“No time to wonder, everyone take cover!” Lucina cried, pushing him out of the way before it could harm any of them. They hit the ground, and she felt the sand scrape her cheek.

“I think that settles it!” Noire yelled darkly, readying an arrow with a maniacal laugh that indicated her other persona.

Lucina raised her sword, looking for ways to run. If they hurried, they might be able to outrun the group, but turning their backs on this enemy might be the last thing they ever did. Lucina was not an expert on the arcane arts, but if these hooded figures could launch such magic at them, who knew what else could they conjure?

Morgan met her eyes questioningly, a hint of fright reflecting back in them. He had also realized that their only choice was to meet them head-on, and that the odds did not seem in their favor. Lucina nodded at him with a determined smile, far stronger than she actually felt.

“Back in formation!” She cried out, and the rest quickly flocked to her, putting their backs against each other. Together, they could cover for each other’s weaknesses, her mother had always told them.

Their enemy did not seem phased in the slightest. Before they came within the reach of their magic or arrows, one of the hooded figures raised a strange staff, casting a brilliant light and chanting something in an old language that her mother only used when she was casting complicated spells. The desert wind carried the words true, and while her grasp of the ancient language was not too keen, she recognized some of the words, roughly translating to: “In the name of Grima, I cast silence!”

The light turned dark and purplish, and then vanished all together, reappearing next to her. She jumped out of the way reflexively, but whatever the caster did, it had not been focused on her.

Instead, her little brother fell to the ground, screaming his lungs out, clawing at his wrists and arms.

Enemies forgotten, Lucina fell to her knees besides him, and cradled his head in her arms until he calmed down somewhat. “Morgan, are you okay?”

When he opened his eyes, they were bloodshot and empty. “H-help! Lucina! I can’t… I f-feel like my _b-blood stopped running through my veins_!”

Noire knelt down besides him, and put her fingers on his pulse point, like Lucina had seen Priest Libra do many times when any of them were feeling ill. After a second, Noire shook her head, a dark look on her face. “They’ve blocked the flow of magic through your body, that’s why you’re feeling so heavy and itchy,” she concluded. “Mother cast it on me a few times, though I’m not particularly magically adept, it still felt really painful.”

Morgan bit back another cry of pain, tears welling up in his eyes and his body shaking heavily. Noire helped him back to his feet, although he mostly leaned on her and Lucina.

While they had been tending to Morgan, the dark mages had surrounded them. Nah stood next to her, her beaststone clasped in her hand, ready to activate it the second Lucina gave the order.

Before she could, one of their enemies spoke with a low voice. “Surrender, mage. And we’ll let your companions live.”

Laurent didn’t lower his book, but he too noticed that they weren’t addressing him. It was hard to see behind the bone white masks, but their gazes were fixed on Morgan, who looked taken aback.“What, you’re talking to me?”

“Like hell we will! You dare to hurt him out of the blue, with no provocation whatsoever, and then ask us to drop our weapons! Why would we trust you?” Lucina bellowed loudly before any of them could answer, her sword raised defiantly at the nearest mage, pointed at his throat.

The stranger did not seem affected in the slightest. “It is not our job to take the lives of children. But if you stand in our way, we will strike you down,” he said with a calm, even voice. “I will warn you one last time, child. Lower your weapons, and come with us peacefully. If you do so, in Grima’s name, no harm will befall your companions.”

Morgan shivered behind her, and she could almost hear the gears in his mind turning, weighing pros against cons, knowing that he would probably agree with these strangers if she let him.

She might not have his talents in tactics, but even she knew that these strangers were not to be trusted, and so she took the decision out of his hands. “Laurent, Nah, now!”

She didn’t need to say anything more. Nah jumped up, transforming into a giant dragon and blasting balls of fire and destruction upon the mages, who quickly spread apart in order to avoid impact. Laurent was upon them instantly, weaving magic with the flick of his wrist, as precise as ever. Lucina herself lunged forward, careful not to stray far away, attacking one mage after another.

But they were armed to the teeth, and far more adept at fighting than the Risen they had fought earlier. Before she could land a finishing blow, she felt the tell-tale drain of a Nosferatu curse landing on her, draining her life into the caster, whose wound miraculously stitched themselves back together before her eyes.

“Ah!” Yarne cried out not far from her as a curse hit him straight in the chest, forcing him to turn back to his human self.

 _Shit._ None of this was going according to plan. Their enemies were easily countering any blow they landed, transferring the wounds they inflicted back into their own skin. She felt her back hitting Noire’s, Laurent and Morgan not too far from her, kneeling on the ground at the mercy of the mages. Nah laid not too far from them, shot down with ropes made of magic, a wyrmslayer pointed held at her neck. Lucina would have rushed to save them, hadn’t she been held in place by a strange staff seemed to increase gravity by a tenfold.

“Surrender,” the same man that had spoke before gritted between his teeth, an inch of malice getting through his mask of indifference.

Lucina spat at his face in return, blood intermingled with saliva standing stark against the white of the man’s mask.

He growled dangerously, a spell on his lips.

But before he could cast it, Morgan cried out: “Stop! Please, don’t hurt her! She’s only trying to protect me! I’ll come with you, please, but only if you stop hurting her!”

The magical energy that had been swirling up around the man died down, but he didn’t close the book in his hand. “I asked you before to surrender peacefully, which you didn’t. Tell me why I wouldn’t kill all of them for disrespecting a Grimleal?!?”

Lucina shook her head furiously at Morgan, silently telling him to stop, but he was just like their father in that regard: reckless with his own life when it came to his loved ones.

Instead of backing down, Morgan pulled a knife from his coat. He didn’t throw it at the man, as Lucina had hoped, but instead held it against his own jugular, razor sharp edge almost cutting into his skin, and she knew exactly what he was going to do.

“If you harm them, I’ll take my life,” Morgan said without a hint of fear. “You need me alive, don’t you? You’ve got us on our knees, they won’t hurt you anymore. I’ll come with you, out of my own volition, I swear this upon Grima himself, but only if you won’t hurt another hair on their heads.”

“Do not speak Grima’s name in vain!” Another dark mage bellowed, but the man who stood before Lucina held up his hand, silencing the protest effectively.

“He knows at least some of our ways, and wears the coat. This is no naive child, and we should not treat him as such,” he said, a strange edge to his voice that Lucina could not identify. “Honour your vow, and I will return it with one of my own. None of us will harm any of your companions until they show intend to harm us themselves, if you will join us without any resistance.”

Lucina knew his answer before he gave it. “I accept.”

“No, Morgan!”

He turned to her while two so-called Grimleal helped him to his feet and assessed his wounds, his eyes sorrowful. “Sorry Lucina, this is the only way. I’ll return to you, sooner or later. I promise!”

It took everything she had to keep quiet, to not attack his captors in a fit of anger. She had to trust her brother, young but more resourceful than all of them combined. If anyone would be able to escape, it was him, and they both knew it was the only way. But that didn’t mean she had to like it one bit.

“Morgan, huh?” The man before her echoed softly under his breath, before pocketing his tome. “What a fitting name.”

What could he mean by that, Lucina wondered. Slowly but surely, gravity around her was returning to normal, but she still did not dare to move.

Her friends held her gaze, waiting for a sign, each as stilled by fear as she was.

“Can I at least say goodbye to them?” Morgan asked softly while two mages flanked his side and took his weapons from him.

The leader shook his head. “We must hurry, now,” he said brusquely. “Are the preparations ready?”

Only now did Lucina notice that behind the fighting mages, two others were busy preparing something that didn’t seem like combat at all. They drew lines and circles in the sand with their own blood, chanting hard-to-grasp rhymes at a frightening speed. One of them nodded after a moment, and the two mages that held Morgan pushed him within the circle, along with the others.

“Morgan!” Lucina cried, but it was already too late. The circle lit up in a bright green, and with a wisp of magic darker than the night itself. Lucina tried to stumble forward, to stop them, but she was still too weighted down to make it in time before they all vanished in the wind. Only Nah managed to cross the distance, flying into pillar of magic before it disappeared along with her brother.

A teleportation spell. That is how they had sneaked upon them so easily in the first place.

Lucina fell to the ground right in front of what remained, her limbs heavy and unbalanced. Lines made of blood were now scorched into the earth instead, magic residue still sparkling on the surface.

“They’re gone…,” Noire muttered weakly, teary-eyed.

“No,” Lucina said softly, and then again, louder and louder every time. “NO! Morgan!”

Laurent knelt besides her and helped her up, Yarne not far behind her. “They are out of our reach now. I cannot sense their magical profile, nor see them. I apologize, Lucina, but I’m afraid we must consider other options.”

“Like what? Leaving my baby brother with those…. monsters?” She spat back, immediately regretting her tone of voice.

“No,” Laurent replied, seemingly as unfazed as always. “No, we will retrieve him, but not without the help of our parents. My mother could probably track their movements far more efficiently than either of us, especially with the help of Mrs. Katarina and Mrs. Tharja.”

 _Her mother,_ oh gods. “They’re going to kill me for losing him,” Lucina muttered, fear spreading through her entire being, gripping her heart and holding it in a deathly embrace until it could barely beat.

In the midst of Yarne and Noire crying, and her own broken mutterings, Laurent managed to keep his head cool. “Then they’d best do so after they have located your brother.”

Lucina shook her head, willing her breath to calm down. _A leader must always think of the greater good of his men_ , her father’s words echoed through her mind. “You’re right. We need to act fast. Morgan has Nah by his side, at least. The two of them are fast and nimble, and might just return to us before we know it. In the meantime, we have to do everything to help them, and as much as I dread it, our parents are far better equipped to do so.”

“What do you propose we do?”

Lucina looked at her battered companions for a second. “Yarne, I want you to run back to the village. You’re the fastest of all of us,” she concluded, pointing in the general direction of their little hamlet. “We’ll trail after you, looking for clues as to where they might have gone while we walk.”

Yarne looked at her as if she was mad. “You want me to go on my own?”

“We’d only hold you back.” When he didn’t bulk, she pleaded: “Please, Yarne. Hurry!”

“O-okay,” he said after another nervous glance at the scorched earth, swallowing down his fear. “But you’d better be right on my heels!”

“Of course, now hurry! Get my parents, if they’re not in the village. You should be able to smell their flock easily enough,” Lucina promised. Where did they say there were going today? Oh, if only she had paid more attention this morning! If only she hadn’t left the village at all!

But it was too late for what-ifs, and Yarne knew that too.

“L-leave it to me!” Yarne said with false courage, and transformed resolutely. His beast form was large and impressive, and most importantly, with superhuman stamina. He had trouble creating a voice they could understand while in beast form, so he gave one strange bark, and ran off.

Lucina watched him go, tested her legs, and put one foot in front of the other. Her centre of gravity was still off, but she ignored the seasickness for now. Morgan was waiting for her, wherever he was, and her friends depended on her to get home, and she would never let them down.

The rest of her companions followed her, silently making their way home under the heat of the scorching sun.

They walked for at least fifteen minutes, until Noire broke the silence. “I see something, there, on top of the hill.”

And indeed, a large group of foot soldiers marched over the hills in one tempo, led by a single knight.

Lucina cursed under her breath. “Lady luck is not on our side today.”

“No, perhaps our luck is finally turning. Look, they’re dressed in blue and green, the colors of Ylisse. Perhaps they’re tracking those Plegians who took Morgan?” Noire theorized, a look of sheer hope in her eyes. She started waving her arms around, hoping to draw their attention. “Hey, we’re over here! Please, come and help us!”

The commander halted suddenly, and from a distance Lucina could see him pointing at them.

“Noire, please. Let’s get out of here while we still can,” she muttered, quickening her own pace. There were some sandy dunes not too far from here. She’d never outrun a cavalier in the grass, but the sand was another matter.

But her companions didn’t join her. Instead, they halted, awaiting the Ylisseans to arrive. “Mother always said the Ylisseans were a force of peace. If anything, they can heal our wounds,” Laurent told her when she asked him why he wasn’t running for his life.

“My mother says quite the opposite of them. I’d rather go home, like we promised Yarne in the first place,” she reminded them darkly. But Noire and Laurent were tired, and slowly but surely the army was gaining on them. She could already make out the grey-brown hair of the commander’s face, his stern expression and the sunlight that reflected on his perfectly polished light blue armor, and Lucina knew it was too late to flee.

Quietly, she offered a prayer to both Grima and Naga, hoping that Noire and Laurent were right after all. They couldn’t be as bad as her mother had described, right…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update is almost ready as well! This is what I get for writing non-chronologically, but I hope the chapter-length was worth the wait.
> 
> Heads-up, if my replies will be slow: I'm limiting my online time due to other responsibilities and my ever-failing health. I apologize in advance, but know that eventually I will answer all of you, and your comments are great appreciated, as well as helpful!


	4. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom and Robin have a nice day together, but the skies quickly turn dark.

The sky above them was a glorious blue, the air humid but clean. Robin took a deep breath, and let the warm air warm her body. She took off her hood and allowed her skin soak up the warmth of the sun. It had been far too long since she’d joined Chrom on his daily rounds, when there was only the two of them to worry about. Why didn’t they do this more often? Sighing contently, Robin brought their intertwined hands to her lips, pressing a quick kiss against it.

Chrom’s smile was as brilliant as it had been when they were fifteen, the tiny wrinkles around his eyes only making it more beautiful. He took his hand out of hers, and replaced it with a kiss of his own, sinking to one knee in front of her. He gently pulled off her glove, unveiling the mark burned into her skin since she was just six years old, shades of black and purple eternally swirling on the surface and creating eyes that seemed to stare right into her soul.

There had been a time where she had been afraid of them, but Chrom had never cared for her supposed destiny as Grima’s chosen vessel. _“All just religious babble,”_ he had told her with earnest eyes the day she had confessed her father’s revelation with a heavy heart, afraid to let a descendant of Naga herself know of her curse. She should have known that he didn’t care about any of that - Chrom hadn’t cared about the fact that she was the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy either. Still, the way he gently covered the mark with his lips, lavishing affection so generously into her tainted skin without abandon, still managed to warm her heart after all those years.

She allowed him to pull her down into the soft soil, patches of grass tickling into her uncovered neck while he crawled on top of her.

“What made you give in to Lucina?” He whispered into her ear, biting the shell gently.

It took her mind a full second to remember that there was a world outside of the teeth gently grazing her flesh, and that they were currently outside, bathing the light of the evening sun amidst their flock. “W-what do you mean, Chrom?”

Chrom bit her neck playfully, making her gasp out loudly. “You shouldn’t call me that, my dear,” he said huskily.

Robin laughed loudly and without abandon, reveling in the warmth in his chest. “What, are you afraid the sheep will tell?” She asked, burying her hands in his hair, and feeling his warmth cover her. “Anyone other than Panne and Yarne, that is.”

“According to Panne they are dreadfully dull conversational partners, so no, that’s not it.” Robin stifled a chuckle in the crook of his neck, imagining Panne trying to teach their sheep about Tarquel pride in vain.

Chrom rolled them around, pulling her on top of him with the momentum. There was a slight flush from a day's work on his face - or maybe it had something to do with what was currently pressing against her tight.

She pressed an open mouthed kiss against his his jawline, feeling the familiar stubble scratch against her lips. Still, it did not take the unsettled feeling in her stomach away. Chrom looked at her with expectant eyes, patiently waiting.

Robin sighed deeply, pulling away from her favorite distraction. “It’s just… we’ve been slipping up more and more every passing day. And there is no guarantee we live another day, Grima knows that. Our children deserve the truth, probably deserved it a long time ago. That way Morgan will maybe finally understand why I keep telling him to keep his hand covered, despite the fact that it feels unnatural.”

“If I have to pick between keeping my shoulder covered for the rest of my life, and keeping my family safe, I’d easily have the skin burned off.” His eyes were aflame, his voice dead-serious despite the fact that it was barely above a whisper, easily lost in the wind. “I was serious that day we left, Robin. We’ve carved out a new life for ourselves, and maybe we should stop calling ourselves by our old names. Robin of Plegia and Chrom of Ylisse are long dead.”

He was right, of course. He often was when it came to their past, but she always tended to over-think whatever thought got stuck in her mind. A bad habit, one that kept her up all night more often than she would have liked, and one her daughter had inherited from her.

However, there were plenty of ways to make her forget about the world, as Chrom knew all too well. He only needed to take a single look at her to know what was going on inside, and more often than not he would make it his personal goal to make her putty in his hands, as was the case today as well.

His warm hands traveled down her spine, tracing circles into her back and relieving tension with every flick of his strong wrists. He worked all the way down until they rested on her buttocks, giving them an appreciative squeeze. Robin grinded her hips into his, watching his eyes roll back with pleasure.

“Maybe… but Marth simply doesn’t roll off my tongue that easily during sex, you know?” She whispered seductively into his ear, and felt rather than saw his reaction, hands snaking around her waist and pressing her possibly even closer.

“Then I suppose we simply have to practice a lot to make you get used to it.” His voice was just the right kind of breathless, fingers traveling underneath the many layers of her clothing.

“Chrom,” Robin moaned softly when his talented fingers ghosted hungrily over her skin, touching that part on the back of her tights that always made her lose control a little.

And then they were suddenly gone. “No, wrong name, try again.”

Robin shook her head,  both desperate for more contact and slightly sobered up at the same time. With effort, she pulled herself away from him, rolling away from his grasping hands until there was enough space for her to remember exactly where they were.

None of the sheep had ran away, a quick survey of the surroundings told her. Their dog walked purposely around the flock, meeting her eye. He was getting old, but that was not a bad thing for a shepherd’s dog. The sheep knew better than to try to outsmart him, though one would try every now and then anyway.

“Let’s not escalate this here in the fields, especially not this close to the village,” Robin said while she dusted her clothing off.

“Oh it’s not like half of them haven’t seen us in various states of undress before,” Chrom muttered dejectedly under his breath, but got to feet regardless. She took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet, and pressed a quick kiss against his palm before fixing her clothing. How had he managed to undo most of her undergarments from underneath her?

“Don’t cover your hair, not yet. I love the feel of it under my fingertips,” Chrom pleaded while she pulled her messy braid underneath the hood.

Robin sighed, but didn’t pull back the cloth that shielded her head from the sun. It was nothing like the warmth she had endured in Plegia, but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss the delightful way it reminded her of home any less than Chrom. Still, very few women her age had a full head of white hair, especially combined with her dark brown eyes and tanned skin. “I know my love. But as you said, the safety of our family goes before vanity. Tonight, in the privacy of our room, you can run your hands through it as much as you’d like.”

“Ha! You really think Lucina will let us sleep tonight? She’ll have us talking till dawn, if not till the next sundown,” Chrom chuckled.

Robin sighed deeply. “You think?”

Chrom beckoned their dog closer, and looked at her strangely. “What’s this, why are you frowning?”

“I’m just… slightly afraid she’ll be angry at us,” Robin hesitated. Lucina was for all intends and purposes a teenager, and one that was a bit too much like the both of them when they were that age; hungry for adventure and a way to make the world right again. She had voiced her dislike for being kept in their little village often and loudly, and what would happen once she knew what world they had kept for her? “By hiding who we are, we also hid who our children are and denied them their birthright. I was pretty mad when I found out my parents had been hiding something colossal from me half of my life.”

Chrom herded their sheep together, and set a comfortable walking space, not a care in the world on his face. “They’re good kids, and reasonable too. They might not understand immediately that all we’ve sacrificed was for their own good, but they will in the end. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m just worried she’ll love me less for it,” Robin finally gave voice to the demons rampaging in her chest. She had willingly given up everything for her family, but still sometimes she wondered if it was enough.

Chrom looked at her strangely, an amused smile on his lips, and Robin knew what he was going to say before he could even utter the words. “They would never! Did you love your parents any less for keeping us apart, after everything they have done? Because I know I don’t, and Lucina is not just your daughter, my love.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair and adjusting it underneath the hood of her cloak until none of the tell-tale Plegian white locks spilled out. “I know it makes no sense. But I just remember the things I’ve yelled at my mother…. oh how I regret it, still. If I had known it was the last time I’d ever see her, I would have never said any of it.”

Their last meeting had been explosive to say the very least, and Robin had left for the battlefield screaming on the top of her lungs. She had felt righteous anger that day, but in retrospect her judgement had most likely been thoroughly clouded by the early hormonal mood swings of her pregnancy, at that point yet undiscovered. Had she known that she would fake her own death two mere months later, never to see her parents again, she would have kissed them a thousand times rather than argued.

“Look at me Robin.” When she didn’t, Chrom softly grasped her chin and tilted it towards him, his blue eyes as determined as they ever were. “We did what we had to do. There is no sense in looking back at the past in regret. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I keep in touch with what happens in our old home countries. I know your parents have erected many monuments in your name, and only speak of you kindly. Surely, they have forgiven you. Wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” Robin admitted. Lucina had had her share of teenage mood swings over the years, including harsh and often unintendedly painful arguments. And every time, Robin had forgiven her the same second the words were uttered. She supposed it was part of being a parent, but her mother had always been a headstrong woman. Still, the thought calmed her nerves somewhat.  “I’m sorry I’m always doubting things, Chrom.”

He pressed a quick kiss on her lips before letting go of her chin and resuming their trek home. “It’s in your nature. It keeps you from rushing things, like I do.”

“And I love your reckless heart, even if it gives me gray hairs.”

Chrom rolled his eyes, running a hand through his own hair. “Oh stop complaining, they are hardly visible through all the white. Unlike mine.” His royal blue hair was interlaced with some silver left and right, and while she thought it gave him character, she knew that he disliked the fact that one day he would be as grey as his old man. It was the difference in their upbringing: Ylisseans valued spring, youth and the birth of new life, while Plegia referred Grima as well, accepting the full circle of life. Robin had not feared death since she was a little girl, and never would.

However, that didn’t mean she wasn’t above teasing her husband every now and then. “Yes, you’re getting old. Maybe it’s time for me to return to Plegia and see if my old fiancee is still interested. If I remember correctly, he was at least ten years younger than you.”

Chrom’s eyes went comically wide, and Robin knew she had achieved her goal. “Hey!” He exclaimed loudly, looking at her accusingly. When she chuckled, his voice turned low and sulky, muttering softly: “Like you could live without me.”

“I don’t know, I never tried,” Robin teased him back, but he didn’t take her bait. Instead, his eyes shot towards her nervously. She interlaced their hands and pulled him forward. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m just kidding. You are the breath in my lungs and the magic running through my veins. A life without you would be a world without colors, meaningless and plain. I’d rather sheath a dagger inside my own heart than spend a day without you.”

“Don’t say that, Robin,” Chrom said darkly, his eyes searching for something in hers.

Robin laughed it off, and blew him a kiss for good measure.

“There may be a day you’ll have to go on without me, be it because of a plague or a darker fate. And…. I wouldn’t want you to follow me until you absolutely have to. It’s not just the two of us anymore in this world, you know? We have two children to think about.”

“I know that…” Robin said, smiling through gritted teeth. She spat in the face of death, but the mere thought of a lifetime twisted her insides unpleasantly.

Chrom sighed, but said nothing about it. Instead, they marched through the field together in silence, enjoying each other's presence. Why didn’t they do this more often, anyway? Most children in the village were in their teens, and hadn’t Donnel been complaining that Nah’s studies took her away from her chores on the farm too often? Maybe they could take let Lucina and Morgan take the flock into the fields a bit more often, and enjoy their twilight days together.

But before Robin could lose herself in one of her daydreams filled with clear blue skies, green pastures and soft sand, she saw a familiar figure run at them with breakneck speed.

“Is that…. Panne?”

Robin shook her head. “No, It’s Yarne, I think.” And the closer he came, the more obvious it became: his slightly darker fur and blue tarquel armor were a dead giveaway. “Yarne, calm down! What in heaven's name has gotten into you?”

“Gra-gr-ga!” The large Tarquel growled out, sounding nothing like a normal rabbit at all. While his mother had mastered the art of mimicking a human voice while in beast form, Yarne could only do that when he concentrated on it, and it was clear from the white showing in his eyes that the poor boy was in distress.

“Please Yarne, try to relax and transform back into your human form…,”Robin said softly to him, carefully petting the fur just underneath his ear. The Tarquel closed his eyes, and quickly a blinding light overtook him, leaving a tall, heavily furred boy in it’s wake. Tears fell down his cheeks, leaving fresh red tracks behind, and a hollow feeling settled in Robin’s stomach. She forced herself to speak calmly to him, gently coaxing a response out of him. “Good, now take a deep breath, and try saying that again.”

“Morgan!” Yarne gasped out between breaths. “They got him, he’s gone!”

“What?” Chrom exclaimed loudly, shaking the poor boy back and forth, demanding answers.

Yarne looked like he was ready to cry even more, a waterfall of words falling out of his trembling lips. “T-they- we were just in the fields, outside of town and suddenly….. _gods_! They were everywhere, I was so scared, I thought we were all going extinct!”

Robin pushed Chrom gently out of the way, ignoring the way her own knees trembled terribly. “Yarne, I need you to focus, and tell me what happened to my children, now.”

“I-I…” Yarne gulped loudly, before continuing more composedly. “They were everywhere, but they weren’t looking at me, they were pointing at Morgan. And before I knew it, they had Lucina as a hostage, demanding that Morgan would surrender himself willingly or they would kill all of us.”

A million possible scenarios flashed through Robin’s mind. “ _They_? Who were they?” She asked frantically, unable to keep her fears under control.

Then, her greatest fear was confirmed. “Strange, hooded figures, wearing all kinds of purple and gold. I’ve never seen anything like them, but they were incredibly strong.”

Yarne went into great detail, describing the tan skin, slightly odd eyes and mesmerizing tattoos, but Robin didn’t need to hear the telltale signs of initiates of the dark priesthood. She grasped Chrom’s hand, holding onto him for support. He was trembling as much as she was, his hands balled up in fists. “Back to Morgan. What happened to my baby?” She demanded once Yarne was done talking.

Yarne averted his eyes, perhaps in shame of not being able to do anything. “Lucina told him not to, but he didn’t listen to her,” he said quietly, another drop of tear falling down his cheek. “So he surrendered himself to them, and then they cast some sort of spell that allowed them to teleport away, or something. Only Nah was fast enough to join them, but we haven’t heard anything from them since, whether they are still alive or if t-they k-k-k-” his last word disappeared into a tearful sob.

Normally, Robin would have take him into her arms and told him all was right in the world. But her worst fears had been confirmed, and she met Chrom’s eyes to find an equally dark expression on his face.

“Grimleal. They found us,” Robin concluded brokenly.

“You don’t know that, my love.”  But he didn’t sound like he believed it himself.

“Why would anyone be after him otherwise…” Robin uttered, her eyes on the quickly darkening sky. How long had it been since they had taken Morgan? The Grimleal didn’t take well to turncoats, and the way he cast magic could be easily misinterpreted. Damn, why had she even taught him dark magic, against all of her gut feelings?

Robin shook her head, dismissing the thoughts one by one, shutting down her mother’s heart and replacing it with the cold calculated one she’d created for herself back in the day when she was chief tactician of the Plegian army, leading thousands of innocent youngsters into an almost certain death. She narrowed her eyes, and considered the thousand possibilities before her.  “But maybe you’re right. We’ve been hidden for so long… They might just have seen him cast in the field, and considered him a good recruit. It wouldn’t be the first time they stole a child with promise from their home.”

Chrom kicked the ground in barely controlled anger. “That doesn’t make our situation better. The second they see the mark on his hand, it’s over.”

“They already did. That’s how they singled him out,” Yarne chimed in, and Robin nearly jumped up. She’d almost forgotten he was here.

“How do you even know of-” Robin shook her head. “Morgan took off the bandages again, didn’t he?” She asked knowingly.

Yarne refused to meet her eyes, fidgeting with a blade of grass. “H-he… said it felt like it hindered his magic, and with all the Risen on the field lately…” Their family dog had curled up besides him, looking between his masters and friend with large not understanding eyes.

“Foolish boy!” Chrom cursed loudly to the skies.

“They’ll keep him alive for it, that at least I can be certain of,” Robin reasoned coldly. “This may be a blessing in disguise. Yarne, quick, what happened after they took him?”

“As I said, they cast some sort of spell that transported them. Laurent said it couldn’t have too large of a range though, but when we scouted the surrounding area we couldn’t find him.”

Laurent had never seen magic outside of his mother’s many books. “An ordinary mage would not be able to pull them away far, but you’d be surprised how much blood magic can amplify a simple curse,” Robin muttered under her breath. Tharja alone could easily cross fifteen kilometer with only a minor blood sacrifice, there was no telling how far a group of experienced and prepared Grimleal could teleport. “Damn it all, they could be in Plegia already…”

“Where is Lucina?” Chrom demanded loudly.

Yarne cast a glance over his shoulder to their village, barely in sight. “They’re still searching. I ran back to the village to alert our parents, but they send me out to get you. I just smelled your flock in the wind, so I came straight away.” A small sigh of relief escaped Robin upon hearing his words, and for once she was glad that her daughter took so much after her husband in appearance. Now, if someone higher up from Ylisse had spotted her and decided to take a good look at her eye, they would be in a completely different situation.

Robin crushed the thought before it could sprout further in her mind. There was no sense in thinking of could-have-beens and what-ifs right now. At least her daughter was safe, and she would rather fight the enemy she knew than one she didn’t.

She turned to Yarne with a carefully fabricated smile. “You did well to do so, Yarne, even though you shouldn’t have been that far from the village in the first place. But that’s for another time.”

Yarne looked somewhat reassured, and petted the dog a few times before transforming back into a large rabbit, motioning the two of them to follow him. Chrom spurned the dog to herd their sheep towards the house, his face as white as a sheet. She knew that if he’d had a sword, something would have tasted his wrath already. Instead, he kept muttering “Gods” under his breath.

Robin interlaced their hands once more, and pulled him along. The sheep would follow them, their dog would take care of that. Right now their son was her only priority. “We have no time. Let’s run home and gather the rest. If they think some Grimleal recruits can cast a teleportation spell, they should see what two senior sorceresses can do when their children are in danger,” she muttered darkly, her eyes promising a death most foul to whomever dared to cross her path.

Chrom nodded, and he fell into pace behind her, Yarne running ahead of them. They would reach the village before sundown, and with some luck gather Tharja and Miriel quickly enough to attempt a teleportation ritual. She could already spot a yellow-green  dragon circling above the hamlet.

 _‘Good,’_ she thought. _‘The rest is already on it.’_

“You’re trembling,” Chrom whispered to her, and just like that she noticed that her entire being was shaking. She tried to calm herself, but her body wouldn’t listen, so far had she distanced her thoughts from her heart.

Chrom’s hand was like a lifeline, and she held onto it with all she had. “Don’t worry, I swear to you on all we love that we will get our children back, no matter what it takes.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

They arrived into their little village in record time. Normally, it was a quiet place, patches of grass stubbornly growing between badly paved streets. She’d helped cut the stones that made up every house here, weaved the grass blades together to create a warm roof. On a normal evening, she delighted in walking through the little world they had created for themselves with their own two hands. Today, it all seemed like a carefully upheld illusion, that finally crumbled in front of them.

When they reached the edge of town, Nowi transformed back into her human form in mid-dive, gracefully landing on her two very human feet right in front of them. “Katarina! Marth! Thank the heavens you’re here!” She exclaimed with relief, immediately coming in for an embrace. Robin allowed her a brief moment of comfort before stepping out of it.

“Morgan,” she said before she could think about it.

“Tharja has tracked him, at least.  We’ve been less lucky about the others.”

Robin and Chrom shared a worried glance. “What others?”

Nowi hesitated for a second. “Let’s go into the town center, Libra has been organizing the search so far, but I think he could use some help.”

“Of course, let’s hurry,” Robin agreed, wondering what Nowi wasn’t telling them with a heavy heart.

They made their way into the central building of their hamlet. It was one of the few houses with several stories, as well as the only one entirely made out of stone. When they first settled here, it was the only home that was still within an acceptable state of repair, and the first few weeks the survivors had spend their nights huddled together on it’s floor. After everyone had build a house of their own, the building remained the centre of their community, a lovely common area where Robin taught the children on weekdays.

When they opened the large wooden doors, it was filled to the brim with distressed parents, and a few young children left and right. Libra stood calmly in the middle, a calm presence amidst an ocean of chaos. Tharja stood in his shadow, her eyes narrowed darkly.

Chrom raised his voice in greeting, and like flies to a flame, everyone flocked to them. His natural leadership made people listen to him, and turn to him in a time of need.

“Marth, thank Naga you’ve arrived here safely!” Libra exclaimed, raising his hands to the heavens and uttering a silent prayer under his breath.

Chrom’s voice was tense, his words clear cut. “We’re both fine. Do you have any information on my son?”

Tharja let out a dark laugh, that sounded more tortured than anything else. “Grimleal. I’m certain off it. I analyzed the magical residue, and an Ylissean mage could not leave such an imprint.”

Those who didn’t hail from Plegia looked at each other in fear, but Henry fell uncharacteristically silent, his smile barely there. Sometimes, knowing the depths of a group’s depravity was worse than the fear of the unknown.

Robin felt her heart sink into her shoes. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t keep track of their mage academy anymore, but back when-” Tharja started, but cut herself off quickly, looking at the children gathered around them, muttering a soft, “ _you know._ ”

Robin nodded, motioning for her to continue. They didn’t talk about Tharja’s past, but she knew from the occasional letter Tharja sent to her family that she was one of the rare Grimleal turncoats who lived to tell the tale. The way Tharja’s eyes never quite left her back told her that the sorceress had her suspicions about her own origins as well, but the unspoken of the laws of their town were clear, and she never asked.

Tharja’s voice was low and dangerous. “This level of sorcery wasn’t something easily achieved. Long range teleportation spells require a strong backbone, and plenty of blood. Not everyone has the strength to cast such magic after the sacrifice, so I suspect there are at least some high level Grimleal involved.”

“Damn,” Chrom cursed loudly next to her, punching the door, making the wood crack underneath his fist and instantly drawing all attention back to himself. “Where is my daughter? I need to talk to her,” he demanded, looking around frantically.

Libra averted his eyes, and Robin felt dread grip at her throat, stealing her breath and her words in a single chokehold.

“Sit down, both of you,” Gaius grit out, pushing Chrom into an old chair, but Robin refused to follow suit, stubbornly staring him dead in the eyes. “Please, Bubbles. You won’t like hearing this.”

Her cool temporary lost, she felt an ancient anger swell up in her chest. Before she could stop herself, she yanked Gaius down to her eye level by the front of his shirt, her words like poison. “Tell. Me. Where. My. Daughter. Is.”

He gulped, and she could see the cold fear in his eyes. Robin quickly released him, trying to compose herself. She was no longer that person, hadn’t been in a long time.

“She’s been taken.” Cherche came up next to Gaius, protectively putting a hand on his shoulder.

“What?” Chrom exclaimed, his head cradled in his hands, leaning forward.

Donnel spoke up from the back, his voice heavy with unshed tears. “Nah and Noire have been taken as well.”

Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest. “The Grimleal came back?”

Libra shook his head, and only did she notice that underneath his calm facade, he seemed paler than usual, his eyes just a tad too wild. “No, an Ylissean platoon of soldiers passed by, and the children called them out for help. If I’m to believe Laurent, they took one look at the way they were fighting, and thought they were runaway conscripts. Laurent was only barely able to get away because Lucina put up such a fight, and thank the heavens she did, or we’d have no idea what happened to them.”

Even over the sound of their rowdy community, Robin could hear her heart break into a thousand pieces. She wasn’t sure how she managed to walk on her shaking legs, but after four long strides she fell to her knees in front of her husband, cradling his head against her chest, feeling his tears soak up in her cloak. Their worst fear had always been that they would be discovered, and that their children would have to pay the price for their selfish decisions. What had started out as a wonderful day had quickly morphed into a nightmare, worse than she could have ever imagined.

“Ylisse has our daughter.” Chrom’s voice was next to her ear, and yet it sounded as if it came from a mile away. “And Plegia has our son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! The last chapter in a while to focus on Chrom and Robin. I wanted to include some lovin' before things turned dark.
> 
> I finished Nano successfully! I'm very happy about it, and while there is a lot of editing to do (I think I'm throwing away at least 10k) I am rather pleased with how everything went, especially since I had no plan whatsoever. Now, enjoy this chapter, before Morgan and Lucina go into uncharted territory next time. :D

**Author's Note:**

> *screams in agony* 
> 
> Ahem... let's see how this goes (because I certainly have no idea...) I have a faint idea for the end, and some scenes for the middle but I came up with this idea 2 hours before midnight and couldn't write anything else. I uhm, hope you enjoyed it?
> 
> Also, I can't tell you how long it has been since I've wanted to write about Actual Shepherd!Chrom. He is a delight. Other than that it was great to write a comfortable, loving couple that still loved each other as intensely as they did when they first met each other, if not more....
> 
> I've already written a little scene for the next chapter, so I can promise you that the other side of the family will also be making an appearance. Please let me know what you think!


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